


Shadows on the Trees

by Duke



Category: Echo and the Bunnymen, Music RPF, Post-Punk RPF
Genre: Childishness, Immaturity, M/M, Trees
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-27
Updated: 2012-08-27
Packaged: 2017-11-13 00:11:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/497217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Duke/pseuds/Duke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A bit of an immaturity kink fic (though no sex) between adults. I actually made Will cute this time, I was tired of the old trope. Will POV</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shadows on the Trees

He's curled up by the tree, putting his hand on the trunk, as if the tree had a heartbeat and he's just stopped to check its pulse. He's observing it, looking for something, though I'm not sure what yet. 

"Do you think I can catch a shadow?..." 

I look over. Indeed, the afternoon sun is still in the sky, penetrating carefully between the branches and creating a weird play between light and darkness as the wind sweeps through the tree. I want to tell him "Don't be preposterous", or something to this affect, but instead I can't help but smile and ask him "Why don't you try?" 

He moves his hand, still with similar deliberation as before, his body movements projecting a sense of purpose. He found a spot where shadow meets light, but more than half his hand is obscured darkly with shadow. "Look, I'm touching it. My hand is covered in shadow. It caught ME, I didn't catch it." He says to me importantly. 

"Doesn't it always?" I ask him. 

"What do you mean? Don't be cryptic." He looks at me with scorn. 

"I thought you'd like the metaphor, of being a man consumed with shadows." I smile. I do think he'd like it, and I know I do as well. 

"Maybe." He says. He looks at the sky, watching it darken, almost as if it changed a phase, shifting just further into darkness the moment he looked. He realises every thing has its time, and maybe it's getting too late for this game. 

I walk him back home, going through rows of trees that are similar to the one before, walking by buildings we've seen so many times the whole city view might be just a moving reel behind us and we wouldn't have a clue. We've seen it all before, and at the end of a day we don't recount those things, our eyes don't look for details. Our minds are each focused on the other, as if the moment exists only for us. 

"Do you think we'll change?" He asks me. The question flows out naturally, but he also sounds let down--with a sense pre-notion, maybe. 

"I'm sure we will." That's just the way things are, everyone does, I can't promise him more than that. 

"Don't you think it's weird?" He asks me, frowing his brow uncomfortably. 

"It's just the way it is." I'm meant to say it with confidence, because I know that change is a constant, but I also don't like speaking with definites about life and the future. A lot of it is left unsaid, and words don't capture everything you want to say. I'm sure not even he could write it all. 

"But who will I be?!..." He asks with the same petulance. I think it's sort of a philosophical question... 

"You'll be you." I say. I realise I can only imagine him change but still stay the same, but I probably come off a little deadpan; Like I brush him off, rather than giving him a thoughtful answer. 

I tell myself it was good enough for him as he walks quietly; Just a little later, he looks at me and asks "Who would you be?..." 

"Well, I think that in 20 years' time I'd grow a moustache, and run a chip shop." I smile at him. 

"Noooo, you'd still be a Bunnyman!" He laughs throatily--the obvious result of too many cigarettes in his short lifetime. 

"You know, we're not really Bunnymen." I tell him. I feel amused, as if I've got myself into a game by answering to the notion that we might be indeed rabbit-people. 

He bends over and touches his knees, wiggling his bum at me, the way I think he imagines little rabbit-boys do. 

"You didn't just..." I snark at him. 

"I did!" He announces victoriously. 

"I hate you. Don't ever do it to me again." I say seriously. He grins, as if I just said the opposite of the word "hate". 

He _knows_ , doesn't he?...


End file.
